I Sound My Indignant Snort Over the Script of the Game
by Phthalo
Summary: Shepard's plans to help the Consort with her problem don't go exactly as intended after a strange visitor decides to tag along on the mission.


_Author's Note: Inspired by the story "A Spider Drops In," itself based on a prompt found in The "Never-Say-Never Self Insert Challenge" at the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age forum. As per DoorbellSpider's notes, the challenge reads: "Pick your favourite or unfavourite scene from DA and put your lovely self into it."_ _Not that I liked everything about DA, but a certain quest in Mass Effect the First ranks so much higher on the annoyance scale, I can't even. The following is pretty much what happened on my first playthrough, through the prism of many playthroughs later. So without further ado..._

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**I Sound my Indignant Snort Over the Script of the Game**

Not for the first time, Shepard found Citadel fashions curiously impractical. The current object of her attention was the Consort's greeter, a round-faced, cheery asari in a long lavender dress. She had just finished explaining the Consort, using phrases such as "many things to many people," "generous spirit" and "merely a woman," when Shepard heard something that sounded like an indignant snort.

"Oh, please!" said a voice. "That's not a character. It's a paper cut-out."

Shepard warily scanned the lobby; everything appeared just as before, except for a woman about her own height, wearing strange clothes, fuzzy slippers and a vague but distinct resemblance to herself. She hadn't been there a moment before.

Strange though the situation was, Shepard was a good soldier. One of the best. She calmly gazed at the woman. "Who are you?"

"Me? Well, um... huh." She gestured vaguely, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her dark blue pants. On her t-shirt was a strange design: a yellow circle with several spokes pointing toward text, all of which read "calibrations" in neat, white print. "Let's call me your Jiminy Cricket," she said with a small grin.

A grin that Shepard had seen reflected back at her in the mirror, on at least a few occasions. It was disconcerting. "My what?"

"Nevermind. Anyway, as I'm sure you've noticed, no one but you can see me."

Shepard had, in fact, noticed. No one took any note of the woman standing by Shepard's side, and it seemed like a logical thing for someone to notice that the Commander had suddenly acquired a low rent, and clearly not military, doppelganger. But no. Curiously, they were all standing exactly as they had been when Shepard had first heard that snort. Ashley and Kaidan, in particular, seemed to be sort of swaying in a nonexistent breeze, their heads moving from side to side in unison, their eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Creepy," said the woman.

Shepard had to admit the woman was right. "They don't usually do that," she said.

"No, they're usually busy watching your a— um, back. Kaidan, especially."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I'm sick of this stupid quest, so I thought I'd drop in and add commentary."

"Can you be more specific?"

A one shoulder shrug: "I know how it all ends. You're probably not going to like it. Seriously, who puts portholes in clothing? This outfit has be some kind of cracked out metaphor for the master plot." She punctuated with air quotes as she circled around the smiling and oblivious Nelyna, shaking her head. "Fishnets dream of being this dress when they grow up."

Most of what the woman said made no sense, but Shepard was too practical to let it get to her. First things first: it wouldn't be good for her mission if she cracked now. She would worry about the nature of this hallucination later.

"All right, Jiminy," said Shepard. "I'll play along."

"Funny you should put it like that."

Shepard shook her head and resumed her inquiries, eventually making an appointment. It turned out the Consort's waiting list was several months long, something that inflected Nelyna's cheery prattle with an undertone of pride.

"Nobody is worth that much of a wait," Shepard said, not unkindly.

Jiminy nodded. "You have no idea how right you are, in this particular case. It's too late now, though. The mere woman should be along any time, to share of her generous spirit."

As if on cue, Nelyna fielded a call from Sha'ira herself, who appeared at the entry to her chambers and requested Shepard's presence in a low, seductive tone. It must have been a testament to the Consort's magnetism that Shepard found her glance following the sinuous sashaying of Sha'ira form, clad in a dress just as curve-hugging and deliriously beholed as Nelyna's. It did briefly occur to her that, from where she was standing, she shouldn't have been able to ogle any of Sha'ira's assets. Maybe logic-defying perception came with the hallucination package.

"Pfft," snorted the hallucination, "someone must've been in dire need of sexual healing to think that was effective storytelling. The framing, in fact, suggests it was meant for Man Shepard's Jiminy, as if he were some kind of lowest common denominator."

"I am not going to ask what you mean by that, but I will ask that you at least let me do my job without the incomprehensible babble."

"Yes, Commander." Jiminy smirked, a twinkle in her eye, one that quickly disappeared under Shepard's glare. "What? I've always wanted to say that. I'll shut up, but I hope you don't have issues with personal space," she muttered as they followed Nelyna's directions to the Consort's lair, Kaidan and Ashley in tow.

Sha'ira chambers were set off from the main lobby, and they contained Sha'ira herself, several large potted plants and a garish purple pod on a dais.

"Swanky," said Jiminy. "The pod of purple ecstasy, in particular, oozes class."

Shepard ignored the hallucination and approached the Consort.

"That is close enough, Commander," said Sha'ira.

"Oh, sure. She says that now," added Jiminy over the remainder of Sha'ira's welcome.

It turned out Sha'ira desired Shepard's help with a turian general, a "friend" turned unwelcome suitor. She hoped that Shepard, for reasons not entirely clear, would be able to convince the man to desist his slander campaign against her.

"If you would speak with him as a fellow soldier," purred Sha'ira as she caressed Shepard's cheek, "I believe he'll listen to you and let the matter be."

Jiminy snorted again. "Who does that, I ask you?"

"Maybe it's some kind of asari custom," said Shepard, though she did find it peculiar that she hadn't been able to tell Sha'ira to keep her hands to herself.

"Right." Jiminy rolled her eyes. "Those aliens and their mysterious ways. Go ahead, ask her about the general some more."

Shepard inquired further, but Sha'ira demurred. She would not trespass on the general's privacy, though she had no objections to Shepard hearing the story from the turian himself, should he wish to unburden. "If you could convince him to stop spreading lies about me," she added as she cozied up to Shepard with a coy half-hug, half-nuzzle, "I would be very grateful."

"So much for the alleged many things," said Jiminy.

Shepard was immensely relived when they finally left the Consort's chambers. Her hallucination spoke fluent snark, and she seemed to have developed some kind of inability to disagree with asari. She turned the matter over in her head on the way to Chora's Den, but came up with no satisfactory explanation. She didn't really think the Prothean beacon was responsible for Jiminy, now tagging along, still only visible to Shepard.

"Maybe I should drop in when you meet G— uh, coughmumblemumble. I am going to fangirl so hard, they'll hear me in Alaska," said Jiminy with a glazed, happy look when when they finally found the general's table. "You know they want asari to be hot galactic stuff, but it's the turians who really bring it. I mean, not this one; this one's a tool. But Nihlus, don't tell me you didn't think he was cute."

Great. A hallucination with a turian fetish. That's going to light up the ol' mission report. Shepard gritted her teeth and proceeded to bully the general into getting off his ass and leaving Sha'ira alone. Having succeeded there, she gritted her teeth some more, and went to the Embassies to deal with the elcor diplomat whom the general had led to believe was being double-crossed by the Consort. She then categorically ignored Jiminy's request to drop in on Executor Pallin, and still gritting her teeth, returned to Sha'ira.

The Consort was all smiles. She had already received word from the general, and had heard the diplomat was no longer her enemy. In exchange for all that, she offered to give Shepard "one more thing."

"Oh, this'll be good."

Shepard ignored Jiminy. So far, nothing about Sha'ira's presence made her want to agree with anything the asari said, nor did she feel compelled to just stand there. Maybe things were turning around. "I'd be honored," said Shepard.

"You're going to regret this," said Jiminy.

Sha'ira nodded. "I offer a gift of words. An affirmation of who you are and what you will become..."

As Sha'ira spoke, Shepard found herself transfixed in spite of the stacking platitudes. Anyone with any knowledge of her personal history, which wasn't exactly top secret, could have come up with the stuff Sha'ira was saying. Loss, sadness, survival, yes, yes. She'd been there, done that, got the t-shirt, the souvenirs, and even sent the postcards: hello from exciting Mindoir, it's a scream; greetings from Akuze, Maw wishes you were here.

"Remember my words when doubt descends, Commander," finished Sha'ira, obviously expecting her to be impressed.

Shepard was not impressed. She scratched her head. "Uh, thanks, I guess."

"Now you've done it," said Jiminy.

On cue, a dramatic cello note sounded. "Close your eyes and relax, Commander," said Sha'ira.

The room suddenly disappeared, and Shepard found herself maybe naked, her face centimeters away from Sha'ira's. The Consort was equally naked. Maybe. It was hard to tell. They remained inexplicably cheek to cheek for a few seconds—doing what, sniffing each other's ears?—while the music swelled. Then, in dramatic slow motion, they descended toward what looked like it might be the floor. Shepard really hoped it wasn't. Unless it involved walking, she was done with floors. She might make an exception for either shore leave or wild passion, but this was neither. In defiance of that thought, a crayon-blue hand with tensely splayed fingers, presumably belonging to Sha'ira, rose up against the pod of purple ecstasy as the music reached its climax.

And then, just like that, Shepard was fully clothed and standing once more in Sha'ira's office, Ashley and Kaidan behind her, swaying ever so gently. Jiminy was also there, leaning against one of the enormous flower pots. She smirked. "Was it good for you, Commander?"

Sherpard wasn't sure what had just happened, but she managed to say goodbye to Sha'ira without further modernist interludes. The Consort did give her a trinket, for dealing with the elcor diplomat, she said, but Shepard was just glad to get out of there.

"So," said Jiminy when they were back outside.

"So," said Shepard.

They stared at each other, blinking in tandem. "I don't suppose you have any idea what happened in there," said Shepard.

"I think you got laid, Commander, but I can't be certain."

"Yeah, me either."

"That sucks. Well, it doesn't read any better with Man Shepard."

"What?"

"Uh, figure of speech. But anyway. I'll let you go pick up coughmumblemumble. Trust me, that'll make you feel better." She gave a quick grin. "Have fun saving the galaxy, k?"

Shepard was about to ask for an explanation, but Jiminy disappeared. She scanned the perimeter carefully, just make sure the hallucination was indeed gone. It was. Ashley and Kaidan were no longer just standing behind her, but checking out the rapid transit panel. With a quick, uneasy glance at the Consort's chambers, Shepard made a mental note to read up on asari customs and joined her squad. There was still much to do.


End file.
